The return of blog biting

Michelle bit this from Michele's blog, so now I'm jacking it...AND WHAT?

I saw this on Chele's blog and was like, fuck it, I'm home today why not.

LAST...
Movie you watched: The Bourne Identity
Movie you bought : Harold and Kumar go to White Castle
Song you listened to: Liberian Girl by Michael Jackson
CD you bought : Songs in the Key of Life by Stevie Wonder
CD you listened to : A mix that I burned
Person you've called : My sister in law
Person that's called you : My babysitter
TV show you watched : Good Times

DO...
You have a crush on someone : Yes
You wish you could live somewhere else : Yes
You believe in online dating : It's okay, but folks have to be really careful.
You want more piercings : No
You like roller coasters : No.
You write in cursive or print : I don't do one any more than the other.

FOR OR AGAINST...
Long distance relationships : They can work. I'm the product of one and my folks were married 18 years. My sister did it and she's been married for three. Everything isn't for everybody, but I believe that people do what they want to do and if they want something to work, they can make it happen.

Gay/lesbian relationships : Don't care.

HAVE YOU...
Ever cried over a boy: Yes.
Ever cried over a girl : No.
Ever lied to someone : Yes
Ever been in a fist fight : Yes

WHAT...
Shampoo do you use : Pantene
Shoes do you wear : I like strappy heels
Are you scared of : Getting hurt

NUMBER...
of times I have been in love? : Once. Would like to change that one day.
of times I have had my heart broken? : Too many
of hearts I have broken? : I don't know
of times my name has appeared in the paper? : Once
of things in my past that I regret? : No regrets. Every lesson is a blessing.

DO YOU THINK YOU ARE...
Pretty : Yep
Funny : Sometimes
Hot : I clean up nice
Friendly : Yes
Amusing : Yes
Ugly : Nope
Loveable : Every other week
Caring : Yes
Sweet : and Spicy
Dorky : Definitely

FAVORITE...
4 letter word : Cute
Actor/actress : Will Smith/ Angela Basset
Cartoon : Family Guy
Cereal : Kaboom
Chewing gum : Eclipse
Color(s) : Purple
Day of the week : Friday
Least fave day : Monday
Flower : Stargazer lillies
Jelly flavor : Grape
Jewelry : Don't really wear jewelry
Summer/Winter: Summer

WHO LAST
Slept in your bed : I hardly even sleep in it.
Saw you cry : My sister
Made you cry : That dude (he didn't know it though)
Yelled at you : Some punk ass brawd in traffic that got flipped off
Sent you an email: Amber

HAVE YOU EVER...
Said "I love you" and meant it? : Yes. I only say it when I mean it.
Kept a secret from everyone : Definitely
Cried during a movie : All the time
Planned your week based on the TV : No
Been backstage : No
Been to New York : Yes
Been to California : No
Hawaii : No
China : No
Canada : Yes
Europe : No
Asia : No
South America : No
Africa : No
What time is it now? : 2:32 p.m.
This or That? Uh, this
Apples or bananas? : Apples
Blue or red? : Red
Walmart or Target? : Walmart
Spring or Fall? : Fall
What are you gonna do after you finish this? : Some more work
Was the last meal you ate? : A sandwich
Are you bored? : Yes
Last noise you heard? : The phone ringing
Last smell you sniffed? : A bag of Doritos

Friendship/Love...
Do you believe in love at first sight? : I believe you can feel a connection to a person immediately. Love comes later.
Do you want children one day & if so, how many? : I already have 2. If I get remarried of course I'd have a couple of more if my hypothetical hubby wants them.
Most important thing to you in a friendship is : Honesty

Other Info ...
Do you speak any other languages? : Spanish
Last book you read? : Reading Love by Toni Morrison
Thing in your bedroom you like? : My t-shirt sheets
How old do you act? : The hell?
Glasses/Contacts : squinting
Braces : no
Do you have any pets? : do children count?
You get embarrassed : yes
What makes you happy? : living another day
What upsets you? : willful ignorance

Finish the sentence...
I Love to...laugh
I Miss...that "this is what's really up" feeling
I Am Annoyed by...feeling disregarded
I Want to be...complete

Ain't that the truth

Ok, so your heart is broken
You're sitting around mopin', mopin', mopin', cryin', cryin'
You say you're even thinking about dying
Well, before you do anything rash, baby, listen to this

Everybody plays the fool, sometime
There's no exception to the rule, listen baby
It may be factual, it may be cruel, i ain't lying
Everybody plays the fool

Those are the breaks. When your number is up in the "fool for love" category, that's just it. You can try to dodge it, but it's gonna happen to you. It's gonna happen to you more than once.

Di...did he just tweak my nose?

Recently, The Champ enlightened the world about the danger of the Three Pat Hug (TPH). Light skinned joke aside, he was basically right on the money. Once you've been three pat hugged, you're three steps away from being invited to a slumber party, and NOT the good kind. Of course men being natural born straight shooters would NEVER do anything like this, right?

Ladies and gentlemen, I have been Nose Tweaked! The Nose Tweak (hereinafter sometimes referred to as "NT") is akin to the TPH with one difference: though closing a door, it opens a window. Where the TPH is Morse Code, the NT loosely carries the attributes of a Chinese character. One tweak says, "You're cute, datable and even doable, but I'm knee deep in hos so Imma put you in the reserves. Standby." What kinda shit? If that isn't bad enough, it's usually surrounded with ambiguous gestures like prolonged hugs or "friendly" kisses that are just "this" side of friendly.

When I was younger, I didn't really mind being the recipient of the occasional tweaking. Partially because I had quite a few hotties as "buds", in my naivete, I thought that it would pay off at some point. Once I hit 18, that shit ceased being cute. I diva-fied myself and got out of the tweaking zone. It was cool, and I got play (MUCH PLAY), but it amounted to me being someone that I was not. So I relaxed the divatude a bit, got into my own groove and all went well. Until the day that I was tweaked. Part of me stepped outside of myself and watched it happen with the following commentary:

No, he's not about to perform the ritualistic Nose Tweak. Something's in my hair. Maybe it's in the way and he wants to kiss me. Wait, his hand is too close to the middle of my face. Maybe it's an eyelash. Yeah that's it. He's not even around the nose, he's headed straight for the ey...muthafucka tweaked my damn nose.

And with that, my fate was sealed. I was the victim of one other drive by tweaking subsequent to that, but re-induction to Tweaksville was the most disturbing. It's like walking into a room with all eyes on you because you KNOW you look good, only to find out that they're looking at you because your skirt is tucked into your panty hose.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not like the typical turning 30 sista that's trying to marry every man she dates...tomorrow. I just don't want my nose tweaked. Is that too much to ask? That shit is really distressing.

Hmmmm

When something reveals itself as too good to be true, our gut reaction is to just use the old addage and imply that some type of deception took place. For some reason, we refuse to face the fact that we didn't look at it properly in the first place. We take things and people and events and places and we put them in these guilded cages and tell ourselves how perfect they are. We don't accept responsibility for our own presumption - no one told us these things, people, events or places would be perfect. But once we are let down, we blame everyone imaginable, except for the person most at fault. Ain't that something?

Each Day

I try to live my life in a way that makes me a beautiful person. Sometimes I succeed, sometimes I fail, but each night I sleep with the knowledge that tomorrow is a new opportunity. My chance to adjust yesterday's mistakes and improve on its successes.

Part of "Project Beautiful" is mastering the art of letting go. There were two male someones who had hurt me very deeply in the past. I had a dream about one of the someones and in the dream, I was being rather hostile. He looked at me and said "You really need to let that go." And his dream self was right. I'd partially gotten past the pain, but not the anger. At the time I had that dream, I was in the process of letting go of a lot.

Today, I saw the other someone walking downtown as I was driving to work. I sort of braced myself for this flood of emotions, but I didn't feel much of anything other than the comfort of seeing an old friend and knowing that he was okay. Getting here was a looooooong road, almost seven years to be exact. But I'm here, and it almost feels liberating. I could get used to this.

Believe only half of what you see

I find that as humans, we are always willing to, not only expect the worst, but believe and be entertained by the worst. We also tend to be fascinated by urban legends with little to no basis whatsoever. What I find amusing is how dogmatically a person will defend something that they not only can't prove, but have virtually no stake in.

The Willie Lynch letter has been circulating for number of years. Supposedly it was a documented speech given by Willie Lynch, a slave owner, who essentially gave the blueprints for keeping black folks enslaved. Simple enough, right? Unfortunately, overwhelming evidence shows that this letter was manufactured MUCH later than this speech was to have taken place. I will say that in reading the letter, it does outline what slavery has done to the black community as a whole, but to attribute this to an individual merely perpetuates the belief that racism is a figment of our imagination. It also makes us seem panicky and uneducated. There are far to many REAL documents, slave journals, blatant acts of racism and xenophobic violence that we can point to, rather than relying on a contrived document that was never really discovered. To me, it is an affront to all individuals who are legitimately involved in the struggle. This document could just as easily have been written by a white man to prove how gullible we as black people are. All I can do is shake my head each time I see it pop up or referenced.

Maya Angelou did not write that shitty FUBU poem and Timberland is not owned and run by the KKK. What's funny is that she has denounced the poem on her website. Funnier still is the fact that Timberland was founded by someone of Hebrew heritage, which would probably exclude him from KKK consideration. However, that has not stopped, or even slowed, the circulation of this "poem." I'm not saying that because of this, folks should go out and make any designer rich. What I am saying is...have an independent thought. Don't patronize or stay away from a certain establishment or brand simply because Maya Angelou (or anyone else) says so. (No disrespect, but I'm not taking fashion advice from a 70+ year old woman.) What I'm also saying is STOP FORWARDING THAT HORRIBLE POEM.

The Wendy Williams gossip list...what can I say about that list that hasn't been said about Afghanistan? (Shameless and gratuitous Chappelle's Show ripoff.) Basically, this is a list of celebrities that are freaks, have stank breath, stank genitalia, homosexual, bisexual, lying about their age, etc. The obsession with celebrity is astounding to me. Celebrities are human beings, so it stands to reason that there are some who will be gay, some will be freaks, some will have breath that smells like 15 pounds of get back and so forth. I don't know anyone for being interested in those things, but that isn't my cup of tea. If Will Smith wants me to know that he's gay, he'll call me and tell me. Wendy recently stated that the list is not affiliated with her...in all fairness though, you can give my saying this as much credence as I gave that over-circulated email.

My love for Jesus is not dependent upon whether or not I forward your email. That 12 year old girl has been in remission for 8 years and is now a dancer at Big Daddy's Gentlemen's Club. If you think that Bill Gates is going to cut you a check for forwarding a stupid ass email rather than actually working, you are out of your damned mind. Sophia Stewart has NOT won her case against the Wachowski Brothers. I could go on forever.

To state it simply, just because your cousin's babysitter's hairdresser's uncle's girlfriend sent you an email, that doesn't make it true and it most definitely does not make it worth of dogmatic defense.

That is all. Go back to your lives citizens.

Just running my mouth

If your email has a name like "num1dyckryder", "cuminside", "likuallover", etc., please do not have "I do all things through Christ who strengthens me" as your sig. I'm not saying I'm as tight with the Lawd as I should be, but I feel safe in saying, he wants no part of that. Chill out.

When you call in to work, your coworkers don't want to hear the details of your GI issues, so please keep the details to a minimum. It will only enhance the ridicule factor.

Those that use their cell phones in public bathrooms, take note: if you use the stall adjacent to mine, you will get embarrassed. Please believe that.

I spent the weekend in Mississippi on the Coast. While passing a couple of white guys in Edgwater mall, I heard one say to the other in reference to me, "That right there is a badunkadunk." I turned my head in partial disbelief only to see Cleatus the Slack Jawed Yokel grinning at me like he had a snoballs chance in hell to even have me fart in his general direction. Verrrrry distressing.

As a woman living alone with two children, I do NOT answer my door if I am not expecting anyone. Yes, I know, the Publisher's Clearing House people will never get me in my home, but neither will the thugs. Far too many sex offenders pop up when I search my zip code. People know this, so why folks insist on popping up at my crib unannounced is beyond me. I have no qualms with listening to unannounced visitors get robbed through my door.

Madden 2006 is out and I will be copping it. However, let me state this for the record: YOU ARE NOT PLAYING REAL FOOTBALL. Let it go.

Why do folks feel that pregnant women are public domain? Her carrying life does not give you the right to touch her, give her unwanted wives' tale advice, or say dumb shit like "Damn you gettin' big!" or "Ooooh you just look miserable." It makes you seem stupid and annoying.

The next man that says to me, "Why you got that look on your face? Smile!" is straight up getting stabbed as I scream, "MAYBE I AIN'T GOT NOTHING TO SMILE ABOUT TODAY BEYOTCH!!" Who made up a rule that I have to smile 24/7? I know I didn't sign off on that. Sometimes I'm just thinking. Can a sister be pensive? Damn!

Whenever I walk into a room full of stuffy folks, I always have to fight the urge to say "Oh my God! What in the world is that smell?!?" Then cast a knowing/accusing stare towards whomever appears the snottiest.

I have discovered that people with the raunchiest breath hardly ever want gum. There is barely one inch between one's mouth and nose, so I refuse to believe folks can't smell the tartness.

For those of you that don't know, let me tell you this: PMS is a motherfucker. If you think it's an imaginary affliction, mess with a sister during one of her "days". . . you'll be telling your story from a hospital bed.

From this moment on, I refuse to get into any group discussions/debates related to child support. I always end up with a headache.

The older I get, the more I realize that things are going to be what they are. This isn't to say that I have no control over my life, but sweating things I can't control is only making me crazy. I'm just going to take it easy.

I'm poor, so when someone finds some gay porn with Bush or Rumsfeld or somebody, help a sister out.

I'm way too emotional for my own good and often feel like a kook afterward.

I'm losing my faith in humanity at a steadily increasing rate.

My children want to go to Disneyworld. Disneyworld is gonna cost about $3500.00 on a budget. There may be some disappointed folks this year.

I've gotta cut back on the java. I have been far too jittery lately.

I'm finding that more and more women are accepting of "man sharing". That is some of the most twisted shit ever to me. I've actually had a dude that was married approach me on some bull and even had his wife (if that's really who she was) call me to tell me that she knew the score and did her own thing so she didn't mind. What kind of shit is that? Heathens I tell ya!!! DIRTY HEATHENS!!!

I don't mind when folks disagree with me. Actually, I love hearing opposing points of view and listening to people explain those views. It doesn't have to necessarily be eloquent or wordy, but to have a solid argument...that's the shit right there. However, to argue with me for the sake of arguing, or because you've got your ass on your shoulders, you don't like the way I express myself or because you simply haven't listened to what I said, well that's just annoying, and maybe a little silly.

*The opinions of this post are solely the opinions of Breez and are not necessarily held by www.blogger.com. If you have any issues with the opinions on this blog:

DON'T READ IT DUMB ASS!!

Muddling through this thing called life

Last night while thumbing through a notebook I had as a senior in high school, I realized how organized I was. A friend of mine expressed a similar sentiment and noted that it was because we had nothing else to do at the time. (I would have loved to regale him of tales of how exciting my life was at the time, but unfortunately, he was right - I was social plankton.) Now that I'm older and have more responsibilities, I know my life should have lost some of it's order. However, my life looks like the organization monster threw up in my life. I'm always late, I can never find anything, I forget everything, I'm slower than molasses, I can't focus and reaching goals seem like impossibilities.

Living in New Orleans makes me want to scream bloody murder. There's a saying related to the difference between New Orleans and purgatory - supposedly God lets people leave purgatory. It's loud, bawdy, country and it stinks. I'm also pretty sure that when the Lord gets in the mood for some smiting, New Orleans will definitely be in the "Top 5". It also does not pay to be a woman with an definitive opinion on anything down here. (Though I'm finding that it doesn't go over too well in other places either, but that's another story for another day.) Long story short, I'm ready to bounce. Call it running, call it escaping, call it whatever the hell you want. I've gotta go.

I have already changed my goal for being published at 27 to 32. I will not allow myself to change that to 37. I've gotta get cracking on this for real. I've been writing lately, and that's most definitely a good thing. One day, maybe folks will say "I knew her when..." I promise not to go on vacation and marry a juvenile gay Jamaican.

I hate doing the dishes. I mean, I despise it. I considered paying my sister $50 a week to do my dishes for me. No joke. I'd rather scrub a million toilets than wash a plate.

I'm fat. I set up an appointment with a trainer at a gym today because I'm tired of being fat. I've started doing Pilates in the morning because I'm tired of being fat. Tonight I'm giving away my red meat because I'm tired of being fat. You get the picture.

My dad was diagnosed with cancer earlier this summer. He's been sort of hush hush about it, which makes me nervous. Between that, my brother leaving his wife, my sister floating through life without direction, my kids growing like weeds and my friends and family thinking that I'm a nut job, I'm somewhat overwhelmed.

I know I'm going to make it...I'm sure of it. I'm just not sure if I'm going to make it with a full head of hair.

the pageant

matters of the heart
make us the most practiced of liars.
we profess to have mended
and grown past our hurts
but rooted within
lies the same
fractured
infantile
soul
aching for warmth and comfort.
so adroit do we become
at putting on this
cavalier charade
that it becomes all at once
effortless -
impelling us to believe
in our own duplicity.
we scoff
at romance and lovers
as foolish and unnecessary
because we are too fearful
to admit
that's what we crave most.
so as our comeuppance
love cuts us
the deepest
and we cry
the hardest.

Today's Nominee for the "Most Deserving of Copious Blows to the Body With a Sack of Nickels" Award

Some people are just gasping for it. I don't want to kill anyone...just give some folks the beating of their lives. Here's today's nominee:

At work we received a fax and the cover sheet indicated that there were two pages. We only recieved that page. So my boss called the office to say, "Hey, we're missing page two. Would you mind re-sending the fax?" The receptionist said, "No problem. I'll give his secretary a note so that she can send the fax." This story should end with us receiving a complete fax on Monday (today). Notice I said "should".

This morning I received a call that went a little something like this:

Good morning. ___ ____'s secretary please.

This is his secretary 'Breez'.

Hello. This is ___ of ___ ___'s office calling regarding the ___ matter. Our office received a call from Mr. ____ stating that he did not receive page two of my fax. Do you know anything about this?

No, I don't, but if you'd give me a moment, I can find out for you.

Well, he said that he didn't receive the entire fax, but I only sent two pages.

(There is a pause as I wait for her to shift into common sense drive. She does not.)

Well, though he's not here, I will assume that means he only got the cover sheet, but I can check on that if you like. (Another pause waiting for the common sense reserve to kick in. Again, nowhere in sight.)

But I only sent two pages.

Ok, please hold while I check the file.

Hi ___? Yes, we only received the cover page, would you please send page two?

*sigh* Okay.

Thank you for calling.

Here is my question: What parallel universe does this woman live in? And did she go on record expressing her inability to count to two? In the effort that it took to make that phone call, she could have filed it under the "shit happens" category and resent the second page of the fax. Her incredulous tone was particularly annoying. As though there was no way in hell that we could be missing the second page. What was even more annoying was that our fax machine prints the number of pages received at the top of the page, and our printout read "Page 1 of 1". So basically, she only sent one page.

If this world were mine, my end of the convo would have gone something like this:

____, stop being a moron. I know where you work and this conversation has me prepared to get into my car, go to your job and beat you within an inch of your life. You were told that page two was not received. That being said, whether you sent two pages, or two thousand, our fax is sans page two. Obviously, actually doing your job is not a strong point, because the fax would either have been sent properly in the first place or you would have sent it again without question. However, do you realize how much extra "work energy" you've expended making this inane phone call? Right now you could be talking to Cindy or Buffy or whoever about your weekend while filing your nails and plotting your next cigarette break. Instead, you're stuck on a phone with me trying to locate the fax that never was. Do us both a favor. Do your job right the first time so that you won't have to "work" twice in the future. But in the meantime, get off your ass and send me my damned fax...and a banana cognac BEYOTCH!!

Ahhhh, if I ruled the world...

PSA

Poetry is one of my favorite artistic expressions. Now I know that art is subjective. One man's trash is another man's treasure and vice versa. However, some shit is better left unwritten. When all you can do is throw a bunch of words that rhyme on a page, recount a detailed sexual experience or tell me how all men are dogs/women are bitches, YOU ARE NOT A POET. Though you have the right to write down whatever you want. What you do NOT have however, is the right to subject others to that madness. Keep that shit on your hard drive, blog, notebook, etc. Please don't mass reproduce that foolishness to everyone you know via email. It's painful and wrong. You put folks in the position where they feel obligated to comment. If they don't want to hurt your feelings they either say nothing, or lie. Unless you have really hard boiled friends (like I do) and tell you, "Say, that shit is wack. Start over."

What's funny is that a true poet wants to know that they've hit you with "the weak-ness." These psuedo-folks are not trying to hear anything that resembles constructive criticism, because they KNOW they've hit you with the bomb. And they have - it's called a stink bomb. So, be a good friend. Unless you plan on publishing your work and are seeking improvement, keep your writings in the private sector.

"Friends don't let friends read wack ass poetry."

This bugged me

This morning I read a "poem" pertaining to male discontent with the "independent woman." In recent months I've heard this repeated ad nauseum and it's got me a little uptight. Believe me, I'm as tired as the brothers of hearing every woman proclaim independence (particularly those living with relatives, married to governmental assistance or damn near prostituting themselves to pay their bills). However, as I said before regarding good men, most independent women are too busy doing the shit that makes them independent to toot their own horns. That being said, the following statement annoyed me: "INDEPENDENT=ALONE". What the hell?

If a sister spouts the ideology that she only has time for an "accomplished" brother, and she has not attained comparable accomplishments, she is enslaved to her own "knight in shining armour" mentality. She has neither pot nor window, but she's knows that "Mr. Right" is going to elevate her. It goes without saying that this woman is not independent.

When a single sister has attained certain accomplishments, and subsequently uses said accomplishments to berate and browbeat men, she also, is NOT independent. She is a ball buster. She is enslaved to her past hurts and the things that she has read which have convinced her that a man can do nothing for her. She is also enslaved to her own ego. So, for a brother to hold her up as a symbol of independence is flawed.

There is also folly in assuming that an independent woman is single and unhappy or, if she is married, her husband's life is a living hell. I've seen quite a few successful marriages where the woman is independent, yet considerate and respectful of her husband. I'm not referring to folks in my age group, but rather, a success that has been charted for ten years or more. A degree of independence is required, in my opinion, to uphold the vows of "in sickeness and in health." In the event that a husband becomes ill, one would think that he can rest easy knowing that his wife will step up and handle business for him. A truly indpendent woman would also recognize that communication is key in interpersonal relationships and therefore, would value the importance of communication in her marriage/committed relationship.

I can't overlook the fact that some independent sisters are busy. Since there's nothing more unattractive than a sister begging for bill money, having to handle business comes with the territory. That being said, if a sister doesn't find you engaging, she probably won't give you too much of her already precious spare time. This is not to say that something is wrong with you or that something is wrong with her. The two of you just aren't compatible. I can attest to the fact that when "it" is there, busy folks will make the time. So take heart and don't just label the sister because it didn't work out between the two of you.

I don't have an issue with folks liking what they like...but to demonize something merely because it is not your preference is very "blah" to me, because what they have done is taken a label and applied it acrossed the board. There are a lot of sisters who are independent and balanced and statements like that often detract from the accomplishments of those sisters.

Life's Massage

While hitching a ride on Sweet Kimmie's Train of Thought I noticed that Neena told her to let life massage her, but she didn't quite define what was involved in that. Here are some things that I think of that qualify as my massages of life.

1. Hanging with my girlfriends

I mean just legitimately hanging, sipping wine, listening to music and reminescing - WITHOUT uttering the words "I hate when men ___." I love my sisters, but some of us really need to let the brothers BREAVE! I really began to enjoy being single when every time I hung with I developed a close circle of friends that didn't turn every gathering into a man gab fest.

2. Dancing with my kids

I LOVE to watch my little shorties dance. Ty tries to do all that ticking shit all the kids are doing these days (I sound like my father) and Jae just kind of struts her prissy self around, lol. It's really a lot of fun.

3. Making lemons out of lemonade

It sounds corny and I often live by the creed "When life gives you lemons, squirt as many people in the eye as humanly possible," but sometimess, lemonade is in order. My car has been out of commission for a couple of weeks now, so every morning and evening, while on public transportation, I give myself mental health time. This society is saturated with distractions: Cable, the internet, the telephone, cell phones, video games and iPods have really taken over. We rarely just take a few minutes to quietly collect our thoughts. So for 20 minutes of my bus trip each way, I tune out everything and just think, plan, scheme, whatever. It's actually quite refreshing.

4. Going on a date

This one I don't do very often, but an enjoyable date is priceless, even if it's just a friendship date. Sometimes being in the company of a man is just fun. I don't mean this bed hopping booty call crap that folks call dating these days. I mean just going to dinner, going to a movie, a concert, walking in the park and saying "Good night, I had a great time. I'll call you later." Folks seem to see that as boring these days.

5. Watching a good action movie

The sight of fictitious ass getting whipped does wonders for my soul. My kids are going to my sister's for a week and the FIRST thing I'm doing when they leave is popping "Fists of Fury" in the DVD player.

6. Talking to my sisters

They are beautiful, hilarious, compassionate and strong. Of course, I occasionally want to crack them over the cabezas, but they are the best. No one can replace them.

7. PJ shopping

Once upon a time I had as much night wear as day wear. There's just something about the right pair of pajamas that gets me giddy.

8. Reading

Pick up a book dammit. You just might learn something. I am a fountain of useless trivia because I read. But I'm also have gained a lot of knowledge for that same reason.

9. Chewing the fat with Michelle

I'm not in the habit of making new friends. The ones I've had for years suit me just fine. However, I'm glad I bent that rule, because she's great. We are exactly alike and completely different all at the same time, and we keep each other (in)sane. DIVAS!!

10. Straying from the beaten path

Being a worker drone, a parent and just getting older has made me quite methodical. I tend to do things according to a routine that I don't deviate from. However, it's good to switch up the game every once in a while. Sometimes, I run across new things that turn out to be something I can incorporate into the routine.

To all the boys I've looooooved befoooooooore...

Reading the relationship musings of the legend known as Harlem Slim, has me pondering my own romantic past. If I had a few minutes to talk to each of them, here's what I would say to them today:

MD - First "boyfriend" To date, you are the only guy that ever gave me flowers. And...and...remember that time you gave me your last Capri Sun at our class picnic and cursed out Chris for knocking down my Coke...remember? Yeah...that was cool.

CA - Dude you tortured me for two months. Couldn't you have just told me you liked me? Throwing spitballs and bugs at people is really just gross...and that eyelid thing was creepy. You made up for it by writing that rhyme about me though. It was tight and I still smile when I remember the hook.

OJ - You were such a sweetheart. My mother loved you. Really. I think she liked that fact that you were a little left of center. I'm glad to see that you've made your life beautiful.

JH - Dude, you were a waste of time even for a middle school boyfriend. And what was up with the chickenhead scallywag? There is no way in the world I was giving up ass at 13, but you picked one hell of a route to take. I would have felt better if it was Latonya, or even Shante...but Keisha? Ewwww. Rumor has it you're strung out on "the shit" now and Keisha - she had "crack ho" written all over her in 8th grade. I hope that's not true, but that's the road you were heading down when I knew you. That's messed up.

EV - Didn't I tell your ass to call BEFORE 10? 1:30? WTF? You saw my daddy...you KNEW he was crazy...ONE THIRTY? I was grounded for two weeks after that. Thanks for nothing.

GM - You caught me at my "people are just people" phase and though you were nice, I did realize one thing: black folks and white folks were different. Plus I always got the feeling that your mom was 3 seconds from a nigger joke and I think we both know how that would have turned out. I also see how things turned out with the sister you DID end up with. Glad I figured you out early on.

HJM - I've already blogged about you extensively. You will always be loved by me, but I can't ever love you "that way" again. You always seemed like you were distracted and that sort of got tired. It's not like I didn't try to make it work or BEG you to work with me, but you gave me nothing. Then when I figured it was time to part ways, you were bewildered. I've admitted that I didn't handle it the right way - that I was flat out wrong - but you never admitted your part. Then, the way you invited yourself back into my life and disappeared - that was special. You really could have left me alone. I guess you had to get the last word. Hope that made you feel better.

MR - I could insult you but what's the use? Plus I can't blame you for being, well, you. Everybody told me what you were and I went ahead and tried to build something with you anyway. I'm glad you found a Tina for your Ike, because I wasn't the one for that shit.

CL - You are worse than herpes. Just when I think it's safe to go back in the water, you try to pop up again. When I was ready to go to the next level, you acted like I asked you throw your dick into a wood chipper. Then when I finally went my own way, you acted like the ground I walked on was sanctified and when I took you seriously, you went back to the old you. What is that shit? And did you REALLY think it could happen twice? Ooooh, you just simple.

DA - That massage thing? That is the oldest, most tired trick in the book. I didn't have a damn headache. My "corn" allergy started flaring up and that's why I called a cab.

LS - I don't know what happened. You fell into the "friendship zone" and I stopped looking at you like a "dude". My bad about the giggling, but I really didn't think you were serious. You gotta admit that it came out of the blue. Glad you got over it though. Even if you don't get no bigga...

KA - You didn't think I would tell you no did you? You are one of the prettiest people I've ever laid eyes on, but outside of that...I get nothing. You weren't mean, you weren't nice, you weren't funny, you weren't corny, you were just...there. It was like going to dinner with this really pretty picture and I just couldn't get with that.

RR - You really hurt me man. After my separation I was a bonified love hater and you joked your way into the inner circle. Deep inside, I knew you had a girlfriend, but like you said, I never asked. Since I thought we were friends, I didn't think I would have needed to. I spotted the three of you in Semolina's recently. I'd never seen them before, but she looks like both of you. I'm glad y'all were able to hold it together.

SK - You, sir, are a lepton. (Thanks Amadeo!)

Yeah...that sums it up.

"People don't forget they have kids."

These two round chocolate faces are focused on me, waiting for an answer. It's not that I don't have an answer for them - I just don't want to give it. The ringleader repeats the question:

"Did you hear me? I asked why my daddy doesn't call me."

Previously, I either avoided the question ("It's time for bed"), changed the subject ("Who wants some pizza/to go to Walmart/IHOP?") or flat out lied ("He's gone away to work" when he was in jail). Evidently, my oldest finally saw through my subterfuge and wanted some answers. This was his third time asking me that question within an hour, so I felt like I owed him a response. I tried diplomacy first. I told him that sometimes, people get very tied up with their lives, and they can forget to do things, even contact people that are very important to them. My four year old looked at me with eyes as big as saucers, "My daddy forgot me?" I immediately realized that if ever there was a wrong answer, I gave it. Before I could fix it my son blurted out, "Nuh uh. People don't forget they have kids. All he has to do is call and say hey." Out of the mouths of babes.

The conversation sort of ended there, because it was a Saturday and there were cartoons to be seen, but it was an elephant in the room of my mind, because I knew it would have to be addressed, I just wasn't sure when or how.

Fast forward a couple of weeks. We're fixing lunch. Lil Man is helping me at the stove, Baby Girl is "stirring" the Kool Aid, and we're having a wonderful time. Seemingly out the blue, my son says, "Maybe if we tell my daddy we can cook we can come over." And my daughter starts singing this "I'm gonna go by my daddy" song. He picks up the phone and calls his dad and, surprise surprise, he's not home. Ty is disgusted because he's been getting this same song and dance for a month now. My kids go into an immediate funk and one of them implies that if they promise to be good, maybe they can go to his house "next time." Four years later and this motherfucker is STILL fucking up my program. Not five minutes before, we were having a great time, then virtually at the mention of his name, the whole vibe changed. The fact that my children, who (though they may be pains in the asses) bring me joy, laughter, love and general entertainment, think that his absence is due to some deficiency on their part is enough to make me want to deliver a shotgun blast between his eyes. But I collect my thoughts and give my children the best thing I know how - the God's honest truth:

In this world, you're gonna be surrounded by people. Some will always be there, some you will never see again and some will come and go like the breeze. Some will express love, some will express hate and some won't show anything, but don't let that take away from who you are. You will always be Ty and Jae and you will always be loved by me and even if he doesn't call, by your dad. Plus, if you don't have anyone else, you have God's love. You are both beautiful and helpful and smart and great. Even when you aren't around I think about you and you make me smile and I'll bet your dad thinks about you too. I won't make excuses for why your dad doesn't call, because I don't know, but I can tell you this, when a person is ready to talk, they will. Until that time comes, try not to worry about anybody that doesn't show that they are worried about you because they've got their own issues to work out.

Now, there are folks that will say I'm wrong, but there's no way in hell I'm going to stand there and let my kids think this is their issue. I would have preferred that they put the blame on me. Anything but blaming themselves. I really don't have the time or the energy to harbor hatred for anyone, but if ever I did, he'd be at the top of the list.

Now I know that one day, he's going to look at the people that they become and want to kick himself. I know one day he's going to be confronted to answer questions, questions that will hurt him, make him cry and make him wonder what was that important that he had to miss out on his children. I know that one day he may even wonder how he made room for another man to fill in the role of "Dad" while all he has is a mere title.

What I don't know is why it had to come to this at all.

My first love

I remember him well. His name was Maurice and I met him in the second grade. He was smart, nice and funny. I was seven and he was. . . about 40. He was my guidance counselor and he would visit my class once a week - every Thursday at 2:00 p.m. to be exact. Every Thursday, I would pick out an outfit, make sure that my mom ironed it properly, wear bows in my hair and refused to play so that I wouldn't get scummy looking. He was actually the first person that truly encouraged my writing. As a kid, I had these bushy eyebrows and of course, folks poked fun and I hated them. Mr. Maurice told us that my eyebrows were what made me unique and things that are unique are what makes us beautiful. Looking back and pictures of my younger days, I looked like my forehead was attacked by two wild caterpillars, but Mr. Maurice was forever in my heart for being sweet to a gangly, bushy-browed kd.

A tear for Big Pimpin'

For those of you that don't know, Big Pimpin' is my car. I told myself that I would name my car after the first song I heard on the radio that made me bob my head. Jay-Z came on and the legend was born. My car's previous owner was an extremely militant lesbian and I had a whole bunch of gay pride and gay interest stickers on my car. If I got out of a car and there was a gay chick around, I was getting mad love. As it turns out, the prior owner was evidently well known so I was asked on more than one occasion "Is this Cathy's car?"

The car is old as hell and I think on it's last leg. It's a 1991 and had 220k miles on it when I bought it. The trunk doesn't work, something in the wheel well is bent, it gets boisterous when it goes over 65 and the headlights don't go down anymore...but I love it. However, it gets me and my friends wherever we have to go, and I'm NEVER ashamed to park my shit in the front. Some folks, when they go clubbing, they'll park their car 3 blocks away and walk to the club. Not me and my homies. I will proudly part it smack in the front. To the folks that don't like it and talk shit, fuckem. However my car may look, I promise you that the vision that steps out of it is on point.

Today however, I have no car. My alternator is shot. I bought a new battery Friday and it turns out that the alternator was the issue. DAMMIT!! Two weeks ago, I had to replace my tires. So far, we're at about $250 in car repairs. I'm too broke for this shit. I should have been prepared for this though. EVERY three day weekend brings car issues. It's like my car says, "She ain't got nothin better to do. Let me fuck with her right quick." I'm giving consideration to purchasing something else, I'm just not sure of what right now. Hopefully I can get things in order in the near future because this unexpected crap is really killing my social life.

Oh...wait...I must have been absent. When did they make that sexy?

Lately, I've been questioning the commonality of common sense. I mean, old folks saying, "Common sense ain't so common," is about as old as time to me, but I feel that the lack of it has descended to new lows - particularly in the realm of fashion.

The other night I went to a club where this sister just happened to catch my eye. I was a little tipsy and at first glance, I couldn't figure out for the life of me why her outfit drew my attention. Until I realized that she had an entire layer of flab dripping over the top of her pants and a shirt that purposely stopped well above her waist. I don't mean that the top of her pants were too tight and she's thick around the waist. I mean the shit was draping over her jeans. WTF?? Now, as a mother of two who doesn't work out nearly enough, I'm not at all unfamiliar with a fat roll or two (okay or TEN don't focus on the wrong part of the damn story), however, to flagrantly have my rolls on parade is another matter entirely. What was even funnier was that she didn't stay still either. She swung the horribly dressed monstrosity known as her body across the room to be viewed by all and sundry. I had to take another shot of Cuervo just to relax.

What the hell is up with men in tight shirts? Is there anything on this planet that is gayer? If my six year old is astute enough to look at a man and ask me, "Why is his shirt so small?" you know something had gone awry. To add insult to injury, they're usually pink or mint green or peach, making the guy look even more ambiguously DL. The other day I saw a guy dressed like that, walking with his woman. I honestly wanted to slap the crap out of her for not being the voice of reason in this fashion faux pas concert.

Women and these misplaced ponytails really have to stop. I'm not knocking a woman for wearing them, but there are rules that should be adhered to. What I fail to understand is, why are there sisters that walk up to the counter and say, "Uh, yes, I'd like to purchase the silkiest ponytail on earth please"? What is that shit about? Can we do some texture and color matching PLEASE? You look like you've got follicular split personality disorder. Living out your caucasian fantasies is really not the move.

The only thing that looks more self hating than a black woman with green color contacts, is a BLACK MAN with green color contacts. What in the Flipmode (thanks Curt!) is going on? To put it simply, they look like a steaming plate of microwaved mess. No nice way to state that. I can't be the only one to notice the cruddy brown undertone that comes with putting a light colored contact over our brown eyes. Simply put, if you buy seafoam green, it transforms into shitty green, sky blue becomes shitty blue and I won't even go there on how awful hazel looks. Just stop it. It does not enhance beauty.

The other day I saw a brother with loc extensions. I'm not even dedicating a full paragraph to that foolishness. Just stop it.

Though men in tight clothes disgust me, men in baggy hanging off the ass clothes are equally disgusting. I don't mean teenaged boys (we all had crazy shit that we wore as teens) I mean grown ass, 30 year old men. Pull up your damned pants stupid. Comfortably loose and even a lil baggy is cool (actually, kinda sexy in this chica's opinion) but once things have begun to fall off your ass, you really just look like a moron and it's time to stop trying to recapture the misspent years of your fleeting youth.

What really takes the cake is that Grandmama has been replaced by Grand-Hood Rat. In the past week I've seen four women well past 50 with variations of the same fucked up plastered hairstyle, booty shorts (or just too short for past 50) and halter tops with metallic flip flop sandals. I can't effectively convey my disgust other than by just saying "Ewwwww" *shudder*. Big Mama really is gone ya'll.

Summer Hibernation

My home is a black hole on the weekends. Once I go in on Friday evening, I don't come out again until Monday morning unless there is a dire necessity to do so. I hate leaving my house unless I absolutely must. I spend so much time on the run during the week, letting my crib go to pot, on the weekend, I feel obligated to dedicate my time to my house, cleaning cooking, sketching out projects.

This has made me increasingly antisocial. Once my neighbor knocked on my door to make sure I was still alive. I remember when I initially bought my car, I was never home. I felt free to go to every mall in the city, work late without having to worry about catching the bus, visit every friend and family member that would have me. However, now...it's just too damned hot man. The thought of entering the inferno known as my car makes my head hurt. Every errand that I have is done after work Monday through Friday. Once I get inside of my home, that time is sacred.

Today is really bad though. Typically, I do my and my daughter's hair, iron our clothes, do my facial and pedicure all while I'm doing my laundry. However, today, uh, I did my daughter's hair and some of my laundry, but all that other stuff *shrug* didn't happen. The things that would make me look presentably human, uh uh. My feet look like, as a good friend has said, I ran all the way to freedom barefoot and I'm still in my pajamas at 7:15. I actually feel quite bummy, and this is not the vision. I know it's hot, but this is ridiculous.

*sigh* I guess I've blogged myself into guilt, so I'll go make myself look like something.

No Home Training

Actually, I spent my formative years in home training boot camp. However, after about 18, I filed for conscientious objector status. When my mother passed away, I discovered how scandalous people can and will be when they think that you don't have anyone in your corner. I mean, my dad was there for me, but he had his own shit with him (he did lose his wife) so in a lot of ways, I was on my own. Since I had adult responsibilities, there were a lot of people that had to be programmed to respect my mind. Around that time, I wiped off the shine grin and unleashed the dragon on society at large. I figured there was no need to be wishy washy with folks. I either liked you or I didn't and life was too short to leave people confused.

My mother had a very magnetic personality and after her death, everyone claimed these great friendships with her. Usually this was because the woman in question either wanted to get with my father, or had a friend that she wanted to introduce to my pops. They figured if they got in good with me, the oldest, it would be smooth sailing. What they didn't know is that my mother was no dummy and she prepared me for this bullshit. One day in particular grimy brawd that knew my family took me on what was our third "ladies luncheon" and talked about how wonderful my mother was, and how, in the spirit of friendship and goodwill, she promised her that she'd do everything in her power to "take care of the entire family." I didn't even pause as I cut into my prime rib, peered at her over the glass of chablis I conned her into getting for my underaged ass and said, "Bitch please, how many times have you been to my house? None right? That's because my mama didn't like you. If you're trying to get with my pops say that so we can stop having these bullshit lunches and go about our business." I know she wanted to slap me seven ways to Sunday and I was itching for her to do it. I guess she wasn't that crazy. I'd have whipped that ass.

I developed this fascination with telling folks to go fuck themselves. Specifically I would tell them, "Here's a suggestion - how about you go couplate with a rusty sewerage pipe and stay out of my damned business?" I told to one of my ex's cousins this after he told me that I needed to learn my place and let my husband come home whenever the hell he wanted. The thing is, this bamma didn't even know the meaning of "copulate". However he wasn't so dumb as to not be pissed when I told him to get a dictionary to look the word up, then get his daughter's "my first dictionary" to help him with the words in the regular dictionary. I thought of calling him a cretin, but I'm more than sure he wouldn't have known the meaning behind that either.

I am most definitely the fly in the ricebowl at my uber republican right wing office and more often than not it drives me nuts. The thing is, they sort of goosestep around racial issues, try to be politically correct in my presence and talk alot of shit when I'm not around. One all but called me a credit to my race. After discovering this, I decided that I would say pretty much whatever pops into my head at the time. When the crazy chick in my office starts acting, well, crazy, I'll tell my boss shit like, "I'm really not in the mood to go to jail for killing up some white folks today." Or if my supplies have been removed I'll ask, "Which one of you people took my stuff in the name of manifest destiny? Did you put a flag on it?" My personal favorite is "Okay, eight hours of white folks is about all I can stand. Good night." I'm sure I'm every type of jigaboo in the book in their opinion, but oh well, c'est la vie. I'm convinced that to a couple of them, I'd be a jig either way, so I may as well get my jollies out of the deal.

I got tired of pleading with my ex for money and since I'm convinced that I'll NEVER see a cent from him, I've decided to make it entertaining for me. So on the RARE happenstance that I actually talk to him, I'll blurt out, "Man, you've been dodging us like you owe me chi...oops, nevermind," and burst into laughter. It really is good medicine.

I'm really not a bad person. I just spent a lot of years thinking that being "good" equated to a chronic diet of other people's bullshit, and that's just not the case. Once I discovered that I could be good and occasionally correct a mofo, "liberated" doesn't begin to cover what I felt. I'm acutally discovering that I'm going soft in my old age and folks are starting to get away with more and more bs with me. *shrug* It doesn't really bother me that much anymore. I've handed out more than my fair share of new assholes, so letting folks slide these days is sort of my way to give back to the community.